Where do the birds go?
by wittyness
Summary: "Obsessed. With that red dress. With Nero wearing that red dress. Every time they hung out that week—every time he even thought of him, if just for a moment—he saw him in that dress." Warnings: Cross dressing, Cursing, Abuse, Lewd Language, Dante x Nero
1. First

The entire situation had been accidental, a set up worthy of a Nancy Drew novel—minus the murder mysteries.

Dante hadn't even been planning on coming over that day, his plan was to try and flirt with Trish from fifth period, maybe conveniently run into her down at the mall where it was common knowledge she frequents every Saturday. The girl could be on her death bed and Dante doubted she'd care. But, she was a good looking girl, with sunny blonde almost white hair and auburn eyes, good tits and an eager smile—you just couldn't find combinations like that in high school now-of-days, he needed to act fast before she decided her nonexistent virginity actually mattered.

That's around the time his best friend Nero called him up and said he'd be coming home early.

It was the middle of April, right smack dab in the middle of spring break and Nero had left with his siblings a week and half before the two weeks break started, going on holiday to visit a few family members up in Fortuna, while Dante toiled away here and tried to occupy his time any way possible.

Now—this posed a problem. He could go off and proposition smoking hot Trish or go hang out with Nero like a good best friend should. But…Nero would understand, he knew Dante had a libido to keep up with, it wasn't exactly a secret. Though, they also agreed—as cheesy as it sounds—that their friendship would always be far more important than any chick (no matter how nice her tits were.) Huh. He probably should have paid more attention in his debate class.

Eventually Dante settled on something along the lines of 'I've got all week to get laid' and set off towards Nero's house. He pulled a hoodie over his head (because the clouded sky above didn't promise any warm weather) and called a cab to his house. Now, Dante was perfectly capable of driving his parent's car. He'd gone through the trials of drivers ED and eventually made it out alive—with the edition of a new license. He simply liked cabs, made him feel like he was from some big city that actually mattered. He also liked the cab drivers, they were always chatty people once you got them going and Dante took cabs so often that most of them knew him by name.

This time he lucked out and happened to get one of his favorites.

Dante jerked the handle back with a grin, sliding into the front seat cheekily. "Kid, what have I told you about sitting in the front seat? Customers sit in the back."

"Aw, is that any way to greet your favorite customer, Lucio? I thought we were friends!"

Louie rolled his eyes, tan fingers running along the steering wheel as he started off down the street once more. "Last time you were in my cab, you and your little friend spilled fucking god knows what on my back seat and it took me forever to clean that sticky shit off the leather."

"I notice you're driving. I haven't told you where to go yet." Dante pointed out, ignoring his first statement altogether.

"I can see a ten sticking out of your pocket. I assume a ten means Nero's?"

Dante barked a bit of laughter, running his pale fingers through his thick silver hair, pale eyes regarding him with a smirk. "Oh, Lucio, you know me so well."

"Yeah, well, I've been driving you around on occasion ever since you were fucking thirteen. What kind of parents you got that lets their kid ride around in taxies whenever he feels like it?"

He shrugged, watching as the first sprinklets of water dropped on the window. "The kind that don't mind me burning through their money, I guess. They never really said anything about it before. I've figured out by now that they don't particularly enjoy confrontation. The way I see it is, as long as I'm not getting into any conflicting trouble, it doesn't really bother them, right?"

"Whatever you say, kid."


	2. Second

It was sprinkling out when he finally arrived at Nero's house; Dante shoved the ten in Lucio's hand and saluted him before jumping out of the cab and yelling that he should stop calling him 'kid' as the man drove off. He then proceeded to run up to the front porch and knock on the door fervently as the droplets quickly stained his clothes and the wind started to make his teeth clatter.

The teen heard a loud grunt of affirmation spark from the other side; no doubt Nero's brother was especially moody after coming back from an exhausting trip that involved seeing the family. Then again, there were very few times when he wasn't especially moody. As assumed, the man wrenched the door back and gave Dante a pointed look before gesturing to him to get inside.

He's always been a gruff man, for as long as the teen could remember, he'd never given any indication to giving a rat's ass about any of his brother's friends, Dante especially. Most people just chalked it up as absolute old people syndrome, doomed to yell at kids to get off his lawn as his age increased, most also agreed he'd only get more bitter with time.

His sister, however, was the complete opposite.

"Dante! So nice to have you over! I'm sure Nero will be happy to see you, he wasn't exactly getting along with his cousins over the holiday." Kyrie was a sweet girl, very homely and welcoming, such a contrast to the man she was related too—it's hard to believe she was related to him at all. But, Nero was always grateful to have her presence around; having two cold stone figures around growing up would've killed him. His sister always balanced the atmosphere perfectly.

"Oh, that's too bad to hear, Kyrie, I do remember meeting Agnus and Miles a few years back, and I don't recall them getting along back then either."

"I know," She sighed. "Well, anyways, Nero hopped in the shower the second we got home, he should be done soon, though. Why don't you go wait up in his room? He stuck his suitcase in the closet and I don't believe he unpacked it yet, there should be a little trinket in there for you." Dante smiled, nodding his head with half lidded eyes before making his way up stairs.

The rain could be heard outside, picking up from a drizzle to something a bit rougher, causing the droplets to pitter-patter against the roof. He vaguely recalled that saying about April showers bringing May flowers and hoped that stupid April would end soon—the gloomy skies were really killing his mood.

He made his way into Nero's room, softly closing the door behind him. His walls were painted a light blue, his best friend's favorite color, lined with various pictures and posters. Glow in the dark stars were scattered across the ceiling, always giving Dante something to stare at when he slept over. Blue eyes made their way over to Nero's closet, which was cracked only slightly with a dark blue suitcase peeking from the shadows.

He realized then, at that weird moment in time, that he couldn't remember the last time Nero's closet was open—he couldn't even remember the last time he had seen inside it.

He recalled, briefly, times when they were younger, running around the house finding games to play. Their unspoken favorite was hide n seek, even if the game became a bit dull with only two people, and he did remember flashes of hiding in his best friend's closet. But…that was a long time ago. Before sex became interesting and girls started noticing him. Now—now he wasn't sure why it was always closed, probably because it was messy, his sister was always anal about Nero keeping his room clean.

Dante smirked, sliding the closet open and peering inside. It was surprisingly clean, actually, all his clothes were hung perfectly and all his shoes were paired up in little dividers. Nothing really seemed out of place, no hidden stack of porno mags or suspicious looking hand lotion. Because, come on, Nero easily had girls slobbering all over his dick, but he persistently shut them down and opted to sustain from sex until he found the right person like some gushy chick waiting for their prince. In other words: he expected his best friend was jerking off constantly, there was no other way he could avoid the teenage hormones.

Dante just shook his head with a smirk, pulling the blue suitcase out into the room. But, something decided to intervene, apparently, some sort of freaky shit fate. He wasn't even supposed to be here in the first place, Nero was still supposed to be in Fortuna for another couple days and Dante was supposed be down at the mall wooing whats-her-face. But, as it turns out: he was here. He was here, about to shut Nero's mysterious closet when he accidentally tripped—on what seems like nothing—falling into the closet completely and knocking his head against the wall.

Blue eyes blinked a few times, rubbing his head persistently with a pained groan. "Motherfucker." The teen took a few experimental steps, trying to adjust the spots of color dancing across his eyes. Once his vision went back to normal, he slid the closet door open wider, letting the soft light flood into the small space.

Immediately, for some unknown reason, his eyes were drawn to the top shelf of the closet.

He noticed a box, unmarked unlike the rest of them, which looked to have shifted slightly after his head made contact with the wall. The flimsy lid was displaced, just a tiny bit, to the point where Dante could see a small red ribbon falling out. He probably should have stopped there, for his sanity's sake, just turned on his heel and closed the door behind him without looking back. But…it was just...something about that ribbon that sparked his curiosity. It looked so out of place in this seemingly normal closet that was put together with prim and proper care.

He'd once read somewhere, and for the life of him he couldn't remember where, that colors play a part in many different things—including moods and socializing. Red, among being the most sexually attractive and seductive, was also the most eye catching. Somebody was more likely to come up to you and start a conversation simply because you chose to wear the color red. Its very intriguing, dangerous, the sign of sirens and trouble and lips and blood and other carnal advances. And, even though Dante's thought process didn't work beyond simple curiosity, this was probably the reason why he decided to pull the box down and tear the lid off.

What he found inside was…surprising.

It was all girls clothing, dresses, skirts, blouses, even lingerie. And that ribbon, that beautiful ribbon, belonged to a particularly sexy number, this fiery red dress that probably left little to the imagination. Underneath it were a pair of matching, frilly, red panties and a small red hair bow. Though, this all seemed to raise the same question: what were these doing in Nero's closet?

His first thought was: Nero, you sly, sly, dog. Got me thinking you're celibate when you're banging chicks so often they're leaving articles of clothing here. But, why would he lie to Dante? And…why were all these sexy pieces all the same size?

Does he have a secret girlfriend I don't know about?

But, Dante didn't have much time to ponder, footsteps could be heard approaching the room and he quickly put the lid back on and put the box back where he found it. Luckily, Dante stumbled out onto the room floor just as Nero opened the door. "Um…hi. Why are you on the floor?"

The blue eyed teen rubbed the back of his neck in embarrassment, looking up at a freshly showered Nero impishly. "I…fell?"

His best friend smirked, shaking his head so that little droplets of water landed on Dante purposely. "Right."

He was clad in a simple black muscle shirt and gray pajama bottoms, silver hair dripping all over his clothes. His neckline hung low enough to where Dante could make out the tattoo that Nero had gotten on his left collar bone last year. Just Breathe. Dante always admired that tattoo.

"So…how were the Tunas, eh?"

Nero laughed lightly, throwing his clothes into a nearby basket. "Apparently they don't like when silly city kids stereotype them."

"…I thought you were kidding when you said you bought Agnus a can of tuna."

"Nope. And apparently he didn't think my joke was funny." Nero grinned, taking a seat on his bed while leaning against his headboard lazily. Dante looked over at him from his spot on the floor, drumming his fingertips against the blue suitcase idly.

And the teen thinks for a moment: hey, maybe he doesn't know Nero as well as he thought—if that box were any sort of indication. And he wonders whether or not this'll be the last time this occurs to him.

"Nero?"

"Hm?"

"You'd tell me if you were dating somebody, right? Even if you think I wouldn't approve or something?"

"Of course," His eyebrows drew together, cocking his head to the side as Dante avoided his direct gaze. "…Why exactly do you ask?"

"I dunno," He whispered, tracing circles on the suitcase. "Just seems like something we never discuss. I mean, you know I talk about chicks all the time and sex and shit but you've never really said much."

"I told you, we just have different views on the matter."

"But why, I mean, why put yourself through the frustration when you could easily have whatever you want?"

The rain pounded outside, droplets creeping over the window, clouding up the view of Nero's oak tree just outside. An empty nest laid on a visible branch, twigs slowly falling free as the rain didn't show signs of letting up.

I wonder…where do the birds go?

"I can't." He hissed, clearing his throat before back tracking in his sentence. "Just forget it, alright? I've had a long fucking couple of weeks; I don't really feel like having this conversation again. You're starting to sound like all those meat heads at school."

"Look, I'm sorry, alright? Sometimes I think things and then simply just say them, I can't help it. My mom always says I'm like my father." Nero's expression softened a bit, eyeing the cut below Dante's lip at the mention of his dad. Blue eyes studied it for a moment, causing Dante to look away. His pale thumb swiped across the tiny scab, closing his eyes instinctively, not wanting to see Nero watching him.

It was an echo behind his ears. The heart beat that clouded his memories, sometimes. It was the anger that created melodies and the emotions that made it impossible. And something kept repeating, whispering in his ear, where do the birds go?


	3. Third

It was always the sound of bones crunching that were starting to seem comforting. Not that he ever really stopped to think about it, he figured it's just something that always stuck with him.

They were simply things he learned to embrace innocently as a kid. The sounds of yelling became soothing lullabies. The hiding places he squeezed into became childish games. The blooming bruises turned into a spectrum of rainbows. He never thought his parents were cruel people, they gave him money whenever he asked—they never had particularly strict rules, either. It just seemed that whenever his dad was angry: he never knew a healthy way of letting it out.

It was always—let it all out in one giant burst, scream at the top of your lungs, punch a hole in the wall.

Knock your kid around.

Though, Dante figured he was masochistic deep down, since he never said anything while it was happening. And he could only think of a handful of times in the last seventeen years where he actually cried because of it, usually he bit down on his bottom lip so hard it bled.

Maybe he was quiet because everything else was, including his dad. All the TV's were turned off and the world went silent and his mom was usually sitting down stairs taking a couple Oxycotins while downing a glass of wine. She only ever said something once, which was the first time, after that, she never got involved. But, she knew. She knew.

And every time his dad closed the door behind him, the whining creak it gave sounded like an exploding bomb in the eerie silence. Only this time, the sounds of the rain were actually here to comfort him.

"You're late."

"I know."

"I told you not to break curfew again."

"I know."

And as the wind was being knocked out of him, he wondered if there was really any air in the first place.

I feel like a terrible person for making Dante's parents assholes!


	4. Forth

Hanging out with Nero was never complicated, that was decidedly his favorite thing about their friendship.

He didn't need to give it any thought or reason. There was no why or how. They just were.

It was the best kind of friendship, one where he couldn't really pin point when they had met, he'd always just…been there. When shit happened, Nero always talked him down and sometimes he didn't talk at all—whatever Dante wanted. He knew about the bruises, of course, he's always known. There are very few things they keep from each other.

Which is what made it so odd that Nero would lie about having a girlfriend.

"You do realize its like, fifty fucking degrees outside? I'm freezing my balls off." The weather was still shitty. Nero did not approve.

"Look, would you just quit bitching and enjoy the view? This is the first time in the last week and a half that the rain has let up; we can finally hang out without getting soaked everywhere we go."

"I get what you're saying, but, did we honestly have to come to the beach of all places, why not the park?" Dante slumped back onto the sand, watching as the clouds swirled and the birds flew past. In all honesty, he wasn't exactly sure why he'd chosen for them to take a cab to the beach.

Always, the day after, always, when the bruises had started to form and his eyes were stinging from lack of sleep, he wanted nothing more then to get away. Nero knew this by now, he guessed, but if Dantee wanted to pretend everything was alright—then he'd pretend like he didn't already know the answer. "You know I hate the park during the day. Fucking dumbshit little kids running around screaming their heads off. Fuck, my ears are ringing just thinking about it."

Nero laughed. "I think you're just being over sensitive. That and a fucking drama queen." Dante stuck out his tongue, scooting so that he was laying his head on Nero's thigh. Blue eyes looked down at him and his first natural reaction was to soothingly run his fingers through the light tresses. Dante didn't mind. "You ever manage to fuck that Lady girl? You seemed pretty determined when you were texting me last week."

Dante's eyes slid shut, a content expression smoothing over his face. Maybe he was unconsciously leaning into Nero's warm hand. Yeah, he definitely was. "Not yet. I think I'm gonna go in for the kill at Vergil's party."

"Mhm." He hummed.

"You coming?"

"I don't think so. Once May and June roll in, I'm sure there'll be plenty of crappy houses with crappy music to get wasted in. Might as well use the rest of the break to relax."

"Mmmm, and by relax, I assume you mean with the owner of that sexy red number in your closet?"

Immediately warm fingers pulled Dante's hair hard as his hand abruptly pulled back and froze. Ice eyes flashed open, looking up at Nero's frown quizzically. A seagull squawked over head, casting noise into the awkward shift in conversation. Dante could have sworn it was an omen. "Excuse me?"

The shorter of the two shifted, causing Dante's head to fall back on the sand. He sat up in disbelief looking over at his friend like he'd gone completely insane. Was me knowing that big of a deal? "Look, man, whoever she is, its cool. I don't give a fuck. If it's somebody I screwed and you're worried it'll be awkward, I can handle that. If you don't think I'll approve or some shit—maybe you should have a little faith in me."

White eyebrows drew together, eyes squinting in realization. "You think…I'm dating someone?"

"Well…yeah…where else would a bunch of chick dresses come from?"

"I don't know." He answered far too quickly. The lone seagull above squawked loudly. Dante could've sworn it sounded like liar. "I don't know where they came from, actually. My sister just stuck the clothes in my closet because we had no room anywhere else."

Liar.

Liar.

Liar.

Dante was sure he was losing his mind. But the bird seemed to be making sense. "Oh."

Nero's frown turned into a grim line, eye's taking on twenty years of aging, looking utterly spent at that weird moment in time. He looked slightly hurt and trapped—maybe each for two completely different reasons, Dante would bet. "You really think I'd get a girlfriend and not tell you?"

Ice eyes cast downwards; wishing at least one grain of sand could become his escape. He wanted to fly away, he'd been thinking about that lately, ever since the weather had become so shitty. Maybe if it rained he'd finally have an excuse. Maybe he could hide where the birds hide. "…What do you want me to say?"

"How bout we stop pretending for one second, huh? How bout you stop pretending you wanted to come to this shit beach that's cold as fuck just because a few snot nose kids get on your nerves? Let's stop pretending I don't notice you flinching every five seconds! How bout that, Dante, because all these years later and we're still seven years old, pretending the world isn't fucked up."

"Fine!" He growled. "Then how bout you stop pretending you don't know where those dresses came from!"

Nero immediately froze once again; face flushing like a twelve year old girl, stammering away in embarrassment. His narrow face turned away, no longer facing Dante's, eyes slipping shut for a brief moment. "I…don't think I can tell you."

"…Is it bad?"

"…Yeah."

"Fine," He whispered, noticing that the seagull had long since flown off. The weather must be deteriorating, once again. "I won't ask."

But that didn't mean he wouldn't wonder.


	5. Fifth

Hello my lovely humans the part some of you have wanted Dante figures it out! Enjoy!

Dante: Also the dress is red because Nero looks good in anything red especially when hes naked with just my coat on!

Nero: Shut up!

* * *

Dante wasn't sure at what point he'd got it in his brain that the dresses belonged to Nero.

He'd lay awake at night, imagining that red dress with the silky red ribbon, imagined the purposes that it had. The hurt look on Nero's face told him that he wasn't lying when he said he wasn't seeing anybody. And...they couldn't possibly have belonged to his sister, true she always had a slender figure, but she was much too short to even consider wearing any of them.

Who's could they be, then?

He guessed he may have realized it the day that he had gone to Nero's house a half an hour before he said he would—knowing his best friend would still be at the market with his sister—planning to snoop around the other's room.

He felt guilty about it, being let in by Credo (looking angry that he was no longer alone to bask in his peace and quiet) but he felt it was something he needed to do.

Decidedly, the first place Dante went for was the closet. He slid the dam thing open (careful not to trip) and immediately pulled the box back down for further inspection. The dresses were just how he remembered them, rumpled slightly but still in good condition—like the owner cherished them. They were still sexy.

Yeah, still sexy.

But…also mysterious.

Carefully he laid his favorite of the bunch onto Nero's bed, hands shaking pathetically, making sure the sexy red number was spread out fully. He set the box on the floor and peered down at the dress. Why does this matter so much to him? Why is he caught up in something so trivial? It was just a fucking dress! Not some bloody sign from god! And yet—it mattered. It really fucking mattered.

"Christ." He hissed. "I think I'm going insane. And it's all your goddamn fault."

The dress didn't answer him like he wished it would, it just laid there, fully spread out like a cunning red vixen. It wasn't a fucking riddle. It didn't have some higher meaning. Some sort of freakish clarity that caused people to think it was okay to talk in metaphors like know-it-all pompous assholes. It was just a dress, he reminded himself. Just a stupid fucking dress.

But then…he found the makeup.

At this point, Dante knew he was asking for it. He was snooping around, looking for things his best friend had practically pleaded he not look for. He said it was bad. Dante just didn't take him seriously.

Not until he reached into the bottom drawer on Nero's nightstand and found a collection of chick products.

He pulled them out one by one and threw them onto the bed next to the dress, as if the inanimate objects were on trial for committing a gruesome crime. He observed each one carefully, eyes raking over every inch. There wasn't anything for the lips except a small, half used tube of clear shimmer cherry lip gloss and a bountiful of eye shadow and eye liner.

It was clear that each on had been used recently, loose makeup covering his fingers as he picked each one up. A weird feeling surfaced in his stomach; here he was again realizing he didn't know Nero as well as he thought.

And that thought pretty much provoked him to pull out one of his best friend's favorite blue shirts and lay it next to the vibrant red dress.

It was impossible to not see that both could fit Nero perfectly, recalling, for a moment, all those jokes he'd made about his figure and how it was almost 'womanly.' Dante gulped.

And…that was probably the moment he realized that yes, the dresses belonged to his best friend.


	6. Sixth

By Wednesday—Dante Sparda had to open up the dictionary and look up the word obsession.

Obsession - Compulsive preoccupation with a fixed idea or an unwanted feeling or emotion, often accompanied by symptoms of anxiety.

Obsessed. With that red dress. With Nero wearing that red dress. Every time they hung out that week—every time he even thought of him, if just for a moment—he saw him in that dress.

They're walking through the park, his blue eyed best friend was chattering about how Dante had been right about the loud mouthed kids, and all the while Dante was tuning him out and avoiding his gaze nervously. He had to steady each breath carefully, had to nod at all the right moments. Because, fuck, even as Nero leaned over the ice-cream truck counter and got them two bomb pops, his eyes wouldn't see anything but his best friend in that damned, hellish dress. He was sick. Disgusting. Pathetic. How could he think such things, feel a flutter in his stomach, even if it was true?

And all the while Nero didn't know any of this was going on. Oh, he knew something was wrong, but, they were back to pretending, remember? "—And then my sister had to buy a new dress—"

Dante's head snapped up. "…What?"

A white brow lifted, the owner waving his hand in the other's face. "Are you even listening to me?"

"…Yeah, sorry, must've day dreamed for a moment. What were you saying?"

"I said, my siblings were planning on going out while we were visiting my cousins and somehow my little cousin Alba had managed to catch Kyrie's dress on fire. It was insane! I thought Credo would blow a blood vessel!"

"Mhm." Dante answered, mind beginning to drift off once again.

Nero came to an abrupt stop, eyeing Dante suspiciously. "Okay, what's up?"

"…What do you mean?"

"I mean," He took a hold of Dante's arm and dragged him to the nearest bench, sitting the both of them down in irritation. "You've been spacing out all week and not saying more than two goddamn words at a time. Something happened."

"I'm fine." The answer was automatic.

"I didn't ask if you were okay, I simply pointed out that something obviously happened to turn you into a walking zombie. But, you sure got defensive."

"What, now we're gonna play psychologist and I'm supposed to fess up to all my wonderful problems in a crowded playground?"

Nero shrugged. "I doubt any of these kids care about things beyond picking their noses and knocking each other over—stop acting paranoid."

"I'm not acting like anything. You're the one that's throwing out accusations all of a sudden."

"Because I know you. And I know something's up."

"Yeah, and? Doesn't mean you have the right to interrogate me like a goddamn murder suspect."

"So you admit it! Something happened."

"What — I — no! Stop tricking me into saying shit!"

"I'm tricking you into telling the truth."

"Well stop it." Dante hissed. "Cant you see I don't wanna talk about it? Christ."

"Well excuse me for caring."

Ice eyes merely glared at blue like this was his fault. Like he was to blame for Dante's current breach into insanity. And maybe…maybe Nero saw a little of that. Maybe he knew he was in some way responsible. Either way, he couldn't help it; he reached out his pale hand and rested it on Dante's shoulder gently. Something that was meant to be a soothing gesture.

Instead, Dante jerked back, almost as if the touch physically burned him. He figured it was the emotional equivalent. Because, once that hand touched his shoulder he thought: from some angles, Nero looked good enough to kiss.

And that was not okay.


	7. Seventh

"Touch me." He whispered, feeling like all the air had left the room. He was suffocating, drowning in a world of euphoria and burning sensations that were unexplainable. His stomach was churning—not with disgust—with desire.

How was that he never realized that his best friend was so beautiful (if that was even the right word to describe it?) He must have been blinded by stupid things he thought he wanted. Girls, namely. But there had to be a concrete reason why he never grew attached to any of them.

It was always one, two, three—hit the bases and feel like you're not empty. The idea hit, when he's lying alone at night, he realizes he feels sick. Because, deep down, Dante was afraid of being alone. He was afraid he'd end up like his father, a bitter man with an unhappy existence, and he figured if he kept switching—he'd eventually find somebody that'd stick. He just didn't realize that person was Nero. Not until he saw that dress.

The one he was currently wearing.

"You want this?" He whispered. "You want me?"

"Yes." Dante breathed, eyes watching deliciously as his best friend strutted around the room in full chick attire, red bow and all.

"How badly?"

"…What?" He garbled, lust clouded brain too far gone to follow words at the moment. "How. Badly."

"Badly. So bad it fucking hurts."

Nero pounced onto the bed, sitting on Dante's thighs seductively. "Is that so? Where—exactly—does it hurt?" He purred.

"Everywhere." His hips bucked up, needy for some form of physical release. In this world he wasn't sick. He wasn't twisted. He was simply smitten. Infatuated.

But, when he woke up—gasping and hard as rock—he realized maybe the two realities weren't so different after all.


	8. Eighth

Last chapter hope you like it!

* * *

The rest of the week was automatic—robotic.

Dante still went and got lost everyday, life still went on, he simply decided to ignore Nero for as long as possible. He was a coward, yeah, it's not like he wasn't willing to admit it, he just…he was never any good at confrontation, a trait he picked up from his parents. He simply figured he was good at avoiding things—his feelings especially.

Dante thought about it though, thought about how Nero would react to Dante having sex dreams and fantasizing about him. He thought about different conversations, different facial expressions, and he couldn't figure out whether he hoped Nero would punch him across the face or spontaneously start making out with him. Anything was better than being stuck in limbo, he supposed, at least a clean cut rejection would somewhat halt his newly formed intense infatuation.

This was getting ridiculous. If he wasn't waking up to a soiled bed, he was disappearing for god knows how many hours, because that was the only way he ever learned to deal with things.

Dante guessed it started when he was little, right after the first time his father had struck him; he ran out and hid in the backyard, ended up sleeping there all night. Now it was the beach and the park and any type of rooftop he could mange to climb onto. It was run away now and think of the consequences later, because the emotional pain always stung more than the physical. That was his mantra.

And as he sat atop the large Oxy building, he wasn't the least bit surprised to feel the first drops of rain fall onto his forehead.

His ice eyes followed the line of birds, darting across the sky in a frenzy, probably looking for a place to hide. Maybe they weren't so different, he thought. Maybe he was looking for a place to hide too. But, it always seemed to be raining and never stopped, because he was always looking.

Pretty soon—he'd run out of places.

"Where…do I go?" He whispered, glancing over at the birds once more before retreating once the rain started to pour.

He took a cab back home, glancing at the clock nervously as they reached his house. He bummed the polite cabbie a ten and slid out into the rain. It was practically a death march, complete with dawning music and an eerie setting. Maybe the emotional pain hurt more but the physical pain still stung quite a bit.

And, as he assumed, his father was furious.

He'd been shoved into his room, hissing as his head made contact with his dresser. "Where the fuck have you been?"

"Around." A foot made contact with his ribs, causing him to choke and cough a couple times. After that everything seemed to drift off into a complete blur, punches were thrown, insults were yelled—bruises were formed.

The one clear thing he could recall even thinking throughout the entire mess is that he wished life was like a photograph, something that usually came to mind when his father hit him. That way—he had the power to freeze frame the moments that mattered and photo shop out the people that didn't. But, life wasn't like that. Life wasn't put together with still frames and cheesy montages. Life was a movie, one that didn't really ever end.

It transitioned from character to character, playing out an over used plotline. It gave the spotlight to the dynamic characters, the ones that shined the brightest and smiled wide, and left the supporting characters to toil away in the shadows. And that was the only thing Dante was thinking about as his dad finally left the room.

He was curled up in a ball, blood spurting from his mouth periodically, almost systematically. His whole body ached and screamed, telling him to close his eyes and give it rest. But Dante couldn't stay here, his soul wanted to run away.

But, he really only had one place to go. So that's where he went.

The teen got to his feet shakily, sliding his window open and slipping through. The drop wasn't as bad as he anticipated, landing on his bruised back with a thud. Luckily the rain had softened the dirt into mudand it ended up covering the brunt of the fall. After that it was just walking, half way dragging himself through the pouring rain, down street lamp lit sidewalks at two AM. He was cold and hungry and tired, but he was also determined, a trait neither of his parents ever showed.

And that gave him hope.

About ten blocks in a car started to pull up beside him and it took Dante a minute to adjust his eyes and realize it was a cab. He shook his head, glaring at the streets ahead, hoping the cabbie would catch his hint. But, the person persisted. They continued to roll beside him, honking every couple minutes until finally, Dante yanked the door open in irritation. "Look, I don't have any fucking mo—" He blinked. "Lucio?"

"Yeah! Now get your ass in here before you die of phenomena!" Dante didn't have the energy to disagree; he simply nodded and slipped into the cab silently.

Lucio glanced over at him nervously, eyes growing wide as he gave Dante a once over. "Fuck, kid, what have you gotten yourself into? Jesus Christ, you look like the living dead!"

"Take me to Nero's."

"But—"

"Please." He whispered. "I just…I need this. I promise I'll pay you back once I get a hold of some cash."

"Don't sweat it, kid. I'm not even really on the clock right now, was about to drive old yeller here back to the garage, anyways. Just consider this a favor from a friend." Dante managed something akin to a half smile before reverting back to silence.

Occasionally Lucio would say something—about his day or his week or how he hated the rainy weather. The teen was honestly only half listening, drifting in and out of thought the entire way there. Only stopping to turn to him when they reached Nero's house. "Lucio — look — thanks." He said quietly.

"I said don't mention it, kid. Just promise me you'll stay out of trouble, alright?"

The ice eyed boy nodded, slipping out of the cab and back into the pouring rain, watching as the bright yellow cab disappeared down the street. He'd have to definitely remember to pay him back later, even if the man said other wise.

But now, he had to focus on getting Nero's attention.

Dante had decided that knocking on the door and waking the whole house up at 2:30 AM probably wasn't such a smart idea. So, he ended up picking up a few pebbles and chucking them at Nero's window. Funny, this was some how reminiscent to every cliché romance movie in existence. Nero finally opened his window after four or five tries, staring down at him in disbelief. Neither of them had to say anything, really, the blue eyed teen was already rushing down stairs to let Dante in.

"Fuck." Nero cursed as he flung the door open. His arms were already reaching out, and closing the doorwhile taking his best friend into his arms and dragging him up the steps carefully. He felt far too breathless at the moment, seeing Dante hurt so badly was like reliving a nightmare over and over. It'd been like that for the last ten or so years, like a nightmare, and it was becoming harder and harder to pretend.

But, he couldn't even remember the last time Dante was hurt this bad, one eye swollen shut, lip split, and entire body looking sickly frail. He bit his lip hard, holding back the vile that threatened to spill from his quaking mouth.

Dante was carefully sat on Nero's bed, head lolling side to side with exhaustion. His best friend took that as a bad sign and immediately tried to flick the lights on—only to find the power was out. "Shit." The teen felt around for his flashlight, sitting on his dresser, switching the thing on and searching for some other light source. Eventually he found a few candles under the sink in his bathroom, quickly locating a lighter and lining them around the room.

Dante watched with half lidded eyes as each one was lit, fire glowing bright in the shadowed room. He'd always liked blackouts growing up. His mom would sit in his room and play shadow puppets on the wall, telling him tall tales and myths to pass the time. But now...now it felt the world was quiet again, like the light wasn't clouding his vision. He felt clear headed and safe. Then again, maybe it was just Nero.

Said boy had abandoned the candles and swiftly pulled out a first aid kit, trying to attend to the cuts on Dante's face. "Dante," He whispered. "Do you ever think this will stop?"

"Fuck if I know." He batted Nero's hand away in irritation. Why wasn't he pretending? Why wasn't he keeping quiet like Dante always asked him to?

"Don't do that!" He hissed, pouring a good amount of alcohol onto a cotton swab and rubbing at the split lip roughly, causing the other boy to flinch violently. "Stop acting like a little kid! I want to fucking help you. I…I fucking care about you, you little shit! I can't stand to see him hurt you like this."

"Well, what do you want me to say? Life sucks? Shit will get better? How bout I tell some fruity lie about how much I care that he hurts me. Then we can fucking cry and get our periods. How does that sound? Sound like a perfect moment to you?" He was being spiteful and he knew it.

"How can you…not care and I care so dam much?"

"Because I don't care about that bastard, alright? I don't want to give him the pleasure of knowing how badly he fucked me up."

Nero chose that moment to run a hot washcloth over his forehead, Dante unconsciously closing his eyes, utterly content. Blue eyes stared at him with lust, slowly pulling the cloth back and blowing a small puff of air over the just cleaned spot. Dante shivered. "Maybe," Nero breathed. "Maybe the same could be said about why I care. Maybe I just care about you too damn much for my own good."

Ice eyes flashed open, staring into the eyes of his best friend incredulously. At that moment, he knew Nero knew. Nero knew that Dante knew. About the dress. About the dreams. About the obsession. About the infatuation. Who was he kidding hiding something like that from his best friend?

They both leaned in at the same time, lips meeting half way, and it was like a stream flowing into a river. Like a dam breaking apart. And, Dante thought, Nero tasted like toothpaste and cheery lip gloss, still lingering on his lips. His lips themselves felt velvety and soft, such a contrast to his own chapped, rough pair. And now he knew why he never stayed with any of those faceless girls, all other kisses felt dull in comparison.

Nero's hands snaked into Dante's hair, pulling their bodies flush against each other, deepening the kiss skillfully. They were breathing each other's air and—for lack of a better description—swapping each other's saliva, slowly and sensually. They stayed like that, a photograph of a moment in time, breathing sighs against each of their lips, forgetting what the world meant, if only for a moment.

Finally, it was Nero that pulled back, untangling his fingers from mussed white hair with a smirk. "So…that's what's been bothering you?"

Dante could only manage a nod, looking at his best friend curiously as he stood and made his way over to the dresser. He pulled out an old white T shirt and a pair of sweatpants, throwing them onto the bed and then going over to the closet. Dante was still looking at the clothes with curiosity, changing his dirty clothes quickly.

He thought, maybe he thinks too much. Maybe he needed to learn to stop over thinking every thing thrown his way. His father thought too much.

Dante didn't want to be his like father.

Instead, the teen stood up slowly, knees wobbling dangerously, and he made his way over to the window. The rain was pouring down; clouds covering the sky in a deep purple, save for a tiny piece of moon just barely visible.

He hoped that saying was true, about April showers bringing May flowers, it seemed like a metaphor too good for his life. Maybe the showers would subside eventually and he'd finally get to see the sun.

A hand was place on his shoulder causing the ice eyed teen to smile, split lip be dammed. From the corner of his eye, he could see a flash of red. He knew Nero was wearing the dress.

The hand on his should shifted, fingers intertwining with his, squeezing his hand reassuringly.

Where do the birds go? The rain whispered. He knew where the birds hid, when the rain poured down and there was no place left to go.

He figured, maybe the place was found in his heart.


End file.
